


after action

by ohmcgee



Category: DCU
Genre: M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 11:31:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9121567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: “Jordan. Are you gettinghigh?"





	

Hal frowns when he answers the door and it’s not the pizza he ordered over two hours ago, it’s fucking Bruce. 

“Man, I _just_ got home,” he says. “I’ve been up for three damn days, Bruce. I don’t care if the city is literally burning down around me, I’m not leaving this fucking apartment.”

“I only came to --” Bruce pauses three steps inside the door. “What is that smell?”

Hal closes his eyes and sighs. 

Bruce narrows his eyes at him. “Jordan. Are you getting _high?_ God, you are an actual teenager, aren’t you?”

“Listen,” Hal says. “I’m too fucking exhausted to do this shit with you right now. My apartment, my weed, my life. You don’t have to like it, but you do have to get the _fuck_ out.”

“Don’t be so defensive,” Bruce says. “I’m not going to turn you in for smoking a little pot.”

“What a relief,” Hal mutters. “What did you want, anyway?”

“You took off before you could be checked for injuries and I noticed you limping after the fight,” Bruce says. “I’m here to make sure you’re not being an idiot. Clark sent me.”

“Good luck with that,” Hal says, padding back into the living room to plop back down on the sofa and finish rolling the joint he was working on before Bruce showed up. Bruce just stands there like a statue, staring as Hal licks the paper. “I’m obviously fine. You can go now.”

“I’d believe that,” Bruce says as Hal lights the joint. “If you didn’t have a history of…”

Bruce trails off, or maybe Hal does, as soon as Hal leans back and closes his mouth around the end of it, body instantly relaxing as he inhales. 

“You know,” Hal says, turning his head to look at Bruce, exhaling a stream of greyish smoke. “This might do you a hell of a lot of good.”

“I’m fine.”

Hal smirks up at him, takes another hit, then holds it out to him. 

Bruce glares at him. 

“Come on,” Hal says, licking his lips as he looks up at him. “We’re off duty.”

“That’s --”

Hal’s mouth stretches into a grin. “I dare you.”

There’s a long break where Hal doesn’t think Bruce is actually going to take his bait this time, but then Bruce steps forward, jaw set defiantly, takes the joint out of Hal’s hand. 

“We’re never off duty,” Bruce says, studying it like it's a clue on one of his crime scenes. “At any given moment crisis could break out and we could be needed.” 

“Uh huh,” Hal says. “That's a great way to live life.”

“It's the only way I know,” Bruce says, still staring at the joint pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “Imagine if Batman couldn't save someone because Bruce Wayne drank too much champagne at a dinner party.”

“Or got high with his co-worker,” Hal winks. 

“Exactly.”

Hal sighs." What's the point, Bruce?”

“Of?”

“What's the point of saving the world if you're not going to live in it?”

“You don't understand.”

“No,” Hal says." I think that's you. You think you can't afford to relax for two seconds because the world might end tomorrow. But that's the kind of the whole POINT. We could literally die every day we wake up. Might as well make the most of it while we got it. This shit that we do? Fighting godzillas and going up against aliens and saving the world from being blown up every Tuesday? I mean, if that's not a good reason to live like there's no tomorrow I don't know what is”. 

“And ‘the most of it’ is sitting around and killing brain cells by inhaling cannabis that's been modified in god knows how many different ways? ”

Hal stares at him. “Give me my weed back and go away. I forgot how much I hated you.”

“No,” Bruce says, holding the joint just out of Hal’s reach. “If this is the pinnacle of living then maybe I will give it a shot.”

“Seriously,” Hal rolls his eyes." You've had your fun, now go fuck off and invent some new spreadsheets or something.”

“I am serious,” Bruce says, holding the joint in front of his face. “As loathe as I am to admit it, you may have a point.”

Hal watches, slack-jawed as Bruce brings the joint to his mouth and closes his lips around it, eyes falling almost all the way shut as he inhales. His shoulders relax, the trait material stretched across them wrinkling in places when he exhales, then reaches out and hands it back to Hal. 

“Am I supposed to feel something?” Bruce asks and Hal fights the instinct to give him the finger. 

“Give it a minute,” Hal says, taking another hit for himself." Can't exactly afford the high grade shit on my salary. Plus, you're...you know. Brick shit house and all that. Try another.”

Bruce frowns at the joint when Hal hands it back, but he takes it again anyway. This time Hal tries not to stare, but as soon as Bruce’s lashes fan out across his cheekbones it's pretty much a lost cause. It’s not like he’s never looked at Bruce before -- Hal knows he’s gorgeous, but it’s the kind of beauty that you appreciate once, realize you can never have, and move on. Like emeralds or rubies or that really nice leather couch at Rooms To Go on Hal’s wishlist. It’s just unreachable, so you put it out of your head before it makes you miserable. 

Not that Bruce isn’t a constant source of misery for him, but still. 

“How’s it going over there?” Hal asks when he realizes neither of them has said anything in a few minutes and he’s tired of listening to his own thoughts. 

Bruce blinks at him slowly and opens his mouth, exhaling a stream of whitish-grey smoke, and his mouth turns down at the corners when he plucks the joint from his mouth. “I really don’t think anything is happening.”

“Jesus,” Hal mutters, taking it back from him. “Of course you’re too uptight to get high.”

Bruce’s eyebrows knit together as Hal takes another hit. Maybe the weed’s not the best quality, but it’s doing alright by Hal, making him feel soft and warm in all the good places, making his head feel like it’s not full of so much shit, like for a few minutes he doesn’t have the weight of a galaxy resting on his shoulders. 

“I’m not too…” Bruce starts, but then seems to forget what he was going to say. “Hn.”

“Hn?” Hal snorts, looking up at him. Bruce eyes are sort of partially hooded and that’s the second time he’s licked his lips in the last ten seconds. “Is that emotionally constipated sociopath for ‘whoa, I think I’m stoned?”

“Maybe,” Bruce says, then slips his shoes off -- one, then the other -- and slides down to sit on the floor next to Hal. “It’s still not what I expected.”

Hal opens his mouth to say something witty slash sarcastic in return, but it sort of fizzles out when he realizes how fucking close Bruce is sitting to him. Hal’s not sure he’s ever seen Bruce -- _actually_ Bruce, when he’s not in the fucking pointy mask -- this close and personal before. His eyes are more grey than blue, though Hal has this theory that the hue changes to suit his mood, and his nose has two little bumps in it that aren’t that noticeable from far away, telltale signs of being broken too many damn times. 

“Uh -- huh?” Hal blurts out when he realizes Bruce is waiting for an answer to a question he apparently just asked him.

“I asked,” Bruce says, wetting his mouth again. “How it feels for you.”

“Oh,” Hal says, lifting his shirt up to scratch an itch right under his navel. “You know. Nice. Kinda floaty, like everything is soft and mushy. Like cotton candy.”

Bruce snorts. 

“You don’t feel it at all?” Hal asks, looking up at him. Hal keeps scooting farther and farther down against the couch. His shoulder blades are almost touching the carpet. 

Bruce shrugs slightly with one shoulder. “Maybe a bit,” he says, then Hal watches as he reaches out and plucks the joint from between Hal’s fingers again and brings it to his mouth to take another hit. Hal tries to count each of Bruce’s eyelashes when he closes his eyes and gets to about twenty-four before he gives up and lets his eyes drift to Bruce’s mouth. “I suppose I do feel a bit...quieter.”

Hal snorts, but he doesn’t say anything in return, just watches as Bruce pinches the joint between his fingers again and holds it there as he stares across the room at nothing in particular. 

“You have fucking beautiful hands,” Hal says, head craned back at an awkward angle just so he can stare at them. They’re covered in little odd shaped silvery scars and callouses, skin on his knuckles worn from being busted and broken so many times, and his fingers --

Bruce just makes an amused noise and holds his free hand out in front of his face, turning it back and forth like he doesn’t see what the fuss is about. 

“No,” Hal says, scrambling up into a sitting position. “No, just _look._ ”

Hal kneels in front of Bruce and presses the palm of his hand against Bruce’s free one and Bruce just tilts his head at him. 

“See,” Hal says, like it should be fucking obvious by now, and Bruce just laughs. 

It’s -- it’s really weird, actually. It’s kind of like the aural equivalent of seeing someone who always wears glasses without their glasses. It’s weird and it makes him start laughing too -- giggling, almost.

“Almost gone,” Bruce says, still cracking a smile as he looks down at the joint in his hand. “You take the last hit. It’s yours.”

“Nah, you go ahead,” Hal says. “You clearly need it more than me.”

“Jordan,” Bruce says and even in his _hella_ stoned state Hal recognizes that as The Voice That Cannot Be Reasoned With. 

“Fine, how about,” he says, licking his lips. “I mean. We could share it.”

“Share,” Bruce says. “How would that work?”

“Well,” Hal says. “It’s kind of a -- I learned it in college, so...yeah. But basically I take a big hit and kind of...pass it to you.”

“You mean you’d exhale the smoke into my mouth,” Bruce says in typical, explain- it-in-the-most-scientifically-clinical way ever form. “Okay.”

That --

That’s definitely not typical Bruce form. But then, this day’s been pretty fucking weird already, not even counting the cyborg aliens. 

“Okay,” Hal says, nodding to himself like an idiot, then takes a long, deep hit from what’s left, discarding the rest in the ashtray on the coffee table before cupping Bruce’s face and leaning in, closing his eyes as he feeds the rest of the hit to Bruce. Their mouths don’t touch because Bruce is a fast learner and parted his mouth to let the smoke in before Hal got that far, but when Hal opens his eyes and comes back down to earth, he realizes Bruce’s hand is fisted in his shirt. 

“That,” Bruce says, looking up at him. 

“Yeah?” Hal asks, licking his lips as he watches the blue in Bruce’s eyes flare to life, then Bruce is tugging him forward and the stubble on his face scratches across Hal’s mouth right before Bruce kisses him, wet and hot and a little sloppier than Hal imagined it would be, if he’s being honest. And yeah, maybe he has imagined it a few times, too weak and horny to shut out images of those fucking amazing hands all over him, but never, not even in his wildest dreams did Hal imagine he might actually get to feel Bruce’s hands sliding up his back under his t-shirt, Bruce’s teeth tugging lightly at his bottom lip. 

“God,” Hal shudders as Bruce’s calloused fingers slide over his skin. “Touch me, fuck. Touch me everywhere.”

Bruce doesn’t make a sound, just grabs Hal by his hips, tugging him closer until Hal shifts his right leg so that he’s straddling Bruce’s left one, then they’re kissing again. It’s still just as sloppy, or maybe lazy is the word. It doesn’t matter. Bruce’s mouth is so soft and wet and it tastes like smoke and shitty Watchtower coffee and every now and then Hal gets a little burn from his stubble and it’s basically driving him into sensory overload. He can’t help but wind his fingers into Bruce’s collar and kiss him back harder and hotter, and when Bruce sinks his teeth into his bottom lip Hal groans against Bruce’s mouth and grinds down against his thigh. 

“You’re hard,” Bruce grunts out like it’s some kind of revelation against Hal’s throat and reaches for Hal’s ass, getting those massive hands on him and encouraging him to keep moving as he nips and bites at Hal’s throat. 

“So are you,” Hal says, reaching down and palming Bruce’s dick through his slacks, eliciting a deep, rumbling groan from Bruce’s chest. “God, you really are huge everywhere. I can barely get my hand around you. Christ, you’d make my mouth sore for a _week_ if I tried to take you --”

“ _Jordan_ ,” Bruce hisses, then nips at Hal’s jaw as he opens his pants. “Be quiet.”

“Fuck,” Hal moans, hips jerking forward when Bruce gets his hand around him and shoves the other one down the back of Hal’s boxers. “Oh fuck _yes_ , Bruce, your _hands_.”

“Tell me,” Bruce says, contradicting his previous statement as he peppers Hal’s throat with bruises. 

“I fucking love them,” Hal says, digging his fingers into the thick muscle and meat of Bruce’s shoulder as he fucks into his fist. “God, they feel amazing. Think about them all the time -- ah, shit.”

Even stoned out of his mind Hal realizes he’s just said something he probably shouldn’t have. A little fuck when you’re high you can brush off, but a declaration like that? Not so much. 

“I mean --”

“Tell me,” Bruce says, holding Hal’s gaze as he works his cock faster. 

“Fuck,” Hal tilts his head back and moans. He’s so fucking close to losing it, to coming all over Bruce’s hand, but when he doesn’t start talking Bruce slows to a teasing pace, then leans in to whisper in his ear _tell me._

“God,” Hal groans, digging his nails in Bruce’s back. “I get myself off sometimes just thinking about your hands all over me, getting me off, holding me down...fucking me with those thick fucking fingers while your other hand’s wrapped around my throat.”

“God, Hal,” Hal hears breathed out next to his ear, then Bruce’s hand is working him hard again, kissing him just as rough, and as soon as Hal feels the rough press of one of Bruce’s fingertips against his hole he moans against Bruce’s mouth and comes all over his hand. 

‘Fuck, oh fuck,” Hal gasps, grabbing Bruce’s face and kissing him sloppily as the orgasm is wrung out of him, then unzips Bruce’s slacks and slides his hand inside.

“I’m close,” Bruce says, gripping Hal’s wrist tightly and looking him in the eye. “Really close. That was --” 

“God, are you _kidding_ me,” Hal growls out and crashes his mouth against Bruce’s, wrapping his hand around his cock. He can’t believe Bruce is this turned on just from getting him off. It’s the hottest thing he’s ever fucking seen. “If you weren’t so close I’d --”

“Don’t,” Bruce warns in that deep, gravelly voice that sends a shiver down Hal’s spine, gritting his teeth and digging his fingers into Hal’s thigh. 

“ -- suck you, _god_ I want to,” Hal finishes and Bruce jerks forward, ramming his forehead against Hal’s collarbone as he comes. 

Hal stays like that for a moment, cradling the back of Bruce’s head as Bruce’s breathing starts to even back out, then a pain shoots straight through his knee.

“Of fucking motherfucking christ _ow_ ,” Hal hisses and rolls off of Bruce to take the pressure off his knee.

Bruce just stares down at him, somehow managing to pull that condescending motherfucker look off even when his eyes are bloodshot and he’s got Hal’s come all over his shirt. 

“Like I said,” Bruce says. “Idiot.”


End file.
